


The Quiet One

by Tea_For_One_Please



Category: Original Work
Genre: British Character, Card Games, Deaf Character, Fluff, High School, I wrote this in a day don't judge me, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sign Language, These boys are cute, hearing loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-08 01:56:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16420166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tea_For_One_Please/pseuds/Tea_For_One_Please
Summary: Luke has liked Owen for ages, but wonders if he'll ever notice him.





	The Quiet One

“Luke!” He jumped at the sharp mention of his name and his pen clattered to the vinyl floor. He looked vaguely in the direction of his teacher, whose face was set in an expression of unsurprised irritation.

“Yeah?” He hoped that she was not expecting a response to the convoluted diagram on the whiteboard behind her.

“Would you mind enlightening me as to what is going on outside of the window that is so much more interesting than my lesson?”

Luke bit back a quip to the effect that literally anything he’d seen outside was of more interest to him, and simply said, “Nothing, miss.” Then, for good measure, “Sorry.”

Mrs Andrews raised her eyes to the ceiling in despair and continued her spiel about cracking hydrocarbons, whatever the hell that meant. Luke’s best friend Emma, who sat next to him, leaned over slightly and whispered, “You okay?” Luke nodded slowly and smiled reassuringly at her. Her attention diverted, Luke let out a silent, relieved breath that she had not delved any further. Mrs Andrews had been lenient on his daydreaming, but probably wouldn’t have been for chatting as well, and the prospect of missing morning break pained him. After all, that fleeting fifteen-minute respite was the only opportunity he had to see Owen.

Owen was a mystery to Luke. Of course, he knew what he looked like, standing at about three inches shorter than Luke with a head of brushed brown curls and dark blue eyes. Luke knew his name from the time two years previously when they had both helped at a school open evening and wore name badges. The two had never spoken, nor had they even interacted beyond a somewhat shy smile of recognition in the corridors. Luke knew for a fact that the two of them were in the same year, but on the other “side” of the school. Because it was a large school, the year groups were split for 80% of the classes for ease of timetabling. Although this made sense, it meant that Luke was not in any of Owen’s classes. He couldn’t find him on social media either – Luke had Facebook and Instagram, and that about covered it. He was just about convinced that Owen didn’t have Instagram, after extensive research. And without knowledge of his surname, if Owen was on Facebook, there was no profile which Luke could conclusively divine to be his.

This was the extent of what Luke knew about Owen. He knew nothing of his interests, the subjects he studied, or what he was like as a person. Where he went during the lunch hour was anybody’s guess, because Luke had never seen him in the cafeteria, nor anywhere within the school grounds. Emma had previously speculated that maybe he went home for lunch, which was plausible. The only problem with this theory was that he’d never seen any of Owen’s friends around during lunch either; the logical conclusion was, therefore, that wherever they went, they went together. Despite everything he didn’t know about Owen, Luke liked him. He was even willing to admit that he might have a crush on him. He was cute, in a quiet, modest way. Or at least, Luke presumed that he was quiet and modest. He just couldn’t prove it.

 

“I still think it’s ridiculous,” Emma said thoughtfully through a mouthful of her sandwich after Luke explained this for the tenth time. “If you like this guy so much, why not talk to him during break instead of just stalking him?”

“I’m not stalking him,” Luke muttered. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“You’re right.” She finished her sandwich and swung her legs up onto the bench. “I’ve never understood why you can’t just walk up to Owen and start a conversation.” Luke shifted uncomfortably.

“I don’t know, it’s just awkward.”

“Honestly, Luke,” Emma muttered. “The only awkward thing is you.”

“I’m not very good at making friends, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Charming. What does that make me?” Emma grinned, and Luke was able to smile.

“I mean we only started being friends because you talked to me first.” He hesitated. “What if we started talking and he decided he didn’t like me, or thought I was annoying, or something?” Emma let out a sigh and pulled out her water bottle.

“Well, you’ll never know if you don’t try, will you?”

Luke considered this. “Okay,” he said finally, and Emma looked satisfied. “I’ll start a conversation with Owen, if you ask out Jack Moraghan.” Emma choked on her water, and Luke thumped her on the back, looking smug.

“How… do you even… know?” she coughed.

“Oh, please,” he laughed scornfully. “I know you better than anyone. The doodled hearts in the back of your cello notebook and the way you cover your mouth when you smile at your phone indicated that you like someone. Add that to the long, lingering gazes and the shameful amount of unnecessary physical contact in your drama lessons and it’s pretty obvious.”

“You don’t even take drama,” Emma protested.

“I sat in a couple of weeks ago, remember?”

She swore under her breath. “Fine, you don’t have to talk to Owen.”

“Thank you for the permission, mighty one,” he smirked, fishing into his rucksack for something to eat.

“Heads up,” she said suddenly, and Luke looked up, thought of food abandoned. Crossing the courtyard between the gym and the humanities block was Owen, surrounded by his friends, a boy and two girls, of whom he knew none. The two girls were chatting and the other boy was clearly listening, but Owen apparently wasn’t. He glanced over at Luke and Emma, and offered him a small smile which, Luke thought, had a tinge of sadness. Luke smiled back, masking his confusion. As soon as Owen turned away, though, Luke nearly clicked his neck turning to Emma.

“What the hell was that?” he hissed, panicked.

“What was what? He smiled at you, didn’t he?”

“Yes, but he didn’t look happy!”

“Good god, you’re never satisfied, are you?” At that moment, the bell rang. Emma pulled out her timetable and perked up. “I’ve got drama. What have you got?” Luke glanced at his own.

“History,” he sighed.

“Why did you choose it if you hate it?”

“I don’t hate it as such,” he said. “It’s just a lot less interesting than it was last year.”

 “I guess that’s fair. Meet you back here for lunch?”

“Sure, see you.” They wandered off in their separate directions, but Luke wasn’t really thinking about his history lesson. The lesson was actually more engaging than normal, and he suspected that he would have thoroughly enjoyed their lesson on military strategies used in the Vietnam War if he hadn’t been so preoccupied. He was planning his own military strategy.

 

He _did_ want to talk to Owen – today if possible – but in order to do that he needed to figure out where he went at lunch. He turned to the back of his exercise book and glanced up to make sure Mr Hughes was not looking, before writing _Step 1 – finding Owen_. He knew that Owen was somewhere in this building: he had seen him and his friends walking in. _One door_ was the next thing he wrote down. Fire escapes excluded, there was only one way in or out of the humanities building. If he could be down there almost the second the bell rang, he might meet Owen on his way out, or at least see where he went. In the latter scenario, he’d have to follow him, a thought which made his stomach turn. Emma’s comment about stalking flashed through his mind. Okay, maybe he was. But not in a creepy way, he thought firmly. He just wanted to talk to him. Just once. He shook the thought aside and wrote _Step 2 – talking to him_. God, that was the difficult bit. What do you say to someone you’ve been awkwardly smiling at for the last year or so? He could not think of a single opening line, or anything. This was genuinely more difficult than Emma having to ask Jack Moraghan on a date – at least she had a specific objective. Luke distantly heard Mr Hughes ask a question, so he raised his hand to suggest he was listening, and fortunately he wasn’t called upon to answer. He could still think of nothing. What did people talk about? What did he himself talk about? Luke had no ideas. After ten minutes, with no inspiration, Luke gave up: clearly he was going to have to wing it.

 

When the bell rang, he was among the first out of the door, and he reached the exit before the mad rush of people came through. He watched the doors to see Owen and his friends, but they didn’t appear. “Must have missed them,” he remarked to Emma later as he prodded at his rather disappointing pasta salad. Emma thought for a moment before speaking.

“You ever seen any murder mysteries?” she asked. Luke took a moment to process this.

“How’s that relevant?”

“Yes or no?” she demanded. He decided to humour her.

“Yes, I have.”

“Okay then, what’s the classic locked-room scenario?”

“The murderer’s still in the room.” Emma raised an eyebrow. “Oh,” he breathed, comprehension dawning. “Very clever.”

“Thanks,” she said, looking very pleased with herself.

 

The following day, after the lunch bell rang, Luke went straight to the humanities block. He still had no idea what he was going to say to Owen if he found him, but he figured he’d cross that bridge if he came to it. He checked every room on both floors with no success, and he with barely ten minutes left of lunch, he returned to his and Emma’s bench thoroughly bewildered. “You were wrong,” he said crossly. “He’s not there.”

“Why would he be there?” Now it was her turn to be confused.

“You said the reason he didn’t come out of the building was because he was already there.”

“Oh, Luke,” Emma said, exasperated. “That wasn’t quite my point. I was suggesting that he just stayed in the room he was in before lunch.”

“Which was one of the humanities rooms.”

“Yes, it was yesterday,” Emma said patiently, with the air of explaining something to a five-year-old. “It probably isn’t today.” Luke groaned and put his head in his hands.

“So where is he now?” he asked desperately.

“How should I know?” she shot back. “Did you see where he went after break?”

“No, I wasn’t looking.”

“Well, you know what to do tomorrow then, don’t you?”

 

The following morning, Owen and his friends trouped past Luke and Emma as usual. Unusually though, Owen had apparently forgotten to zip one of the pockets of his rucksack, and just after he’d turned to smile at Luke, he hitched up his bag and a rainbow-striped pencil case dropped out onto the concrete. Luke seized his chance and sprang to his feet; he scooped up Owen’s pencil case and called after him. “Owen!” There was no response at first, so he jogged after the little group. “Owen!” His friends started to turn, and Owen turned last. He looked up at Luke and smiled at him. Luke flushed, suddenly nervous, and handed over the pencil case. His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You… you dropped it, um, back there.”

Owen’s handsome features twisted in confusion and he looked to the girl standing next to him and whispered, “Martha?”

“Say it again,” she said to Luke, making hand motions which Luke didn’t understand. “But more clearly.”

“You dropped your pencil case in the courtyard, just after you went past us,” Luke repeated, pointing behind him. Owen nodded, smiled, and lifted a hand to his mouth and tilted it downwards until his palm pointed upwards.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“No worries,” Luke shrugged, and as Martha made another hand motion, suddenly Luke understood. She was signing; Owen couldn’t hear him. He smiled at Owen, and waved, before turning and going back to the bench. He glanced back as Owen and his friends wandered into the front building of the school.

“What happened?” Emma asked him.

“I gave the pencil case back,” Luke said, and Emma tutted.

“And? Did he profess undying love for you, or even just ask you to hang out?”

“Not exactly.” He paused momentarily. “He’s deaf.”

“Really?”

“I think he can speak a bit,” he continued thoughtfully. “He whispered his friend’s name and said thank you. He seems to be able to lip-read, but both he and his friends used a bit of sign language too.”

“Do you know any sign language?”

“Not even a little bit.”

 

“Okay,” hissed Luke. “I’ve got some greetings and basic phrases. This stuff is hard.”

“You said he can lip-read, right?” Emma glanced at his screen before hastily returning to her own as their teacher came over.

“Yes, but I want to try to talk to him in a way he can more easily understand.”

“Not being funny but if it’s bad he won’t understand.” Luke scowled at her.

“You’re not helping.” He searched _how to say I like you in british sign language_ , scrolling through several results before throwing up his hands in frustration. “They’re all how to say ‘I love you’!” he complained. “That seems a little forward, don’t you think?”

“Is there anything else you could say?” Emma looked over again and pointed to one of the results. “How about that one?” she suggested.

“’You’re beautiful’?” he read. “Is that appropriate?”

“It was just an idea. You don’t have to do it.”

“I might as well. And he’ll at least appreciate the gesture, right?” Luke bit his lip anxiously.

“I’m sure he will.” Emma smiled encouragingly at him. “You’re kind of adorable, you know that?”

“Shut up,” he muttered, but couldn’t help smiling.

“Oh, I forgot to say, I have orchestra today. It’s starting on Wednesday lunchtimes now.”

“Great, what am I supposed to do?” Luke slumped back in his chair. Emma feigned deep thought.

“I’m not sure. You know, if only you’d been hoping for an ideal opportunity to talk to the guy you like, you could do that.” Luke laughed and punched her gently on the shoulder.

 

When the bell rang to indicate the start of the lunch hour, Luke made his way towards the front building of the school. He glanced into each classroom along the corridor, gradually growing more disheartened at each empty room, until he glanced into the third classroom from the end. There were four people in there, sat around a pack of cards, casually eating lunch and laughing about something. Luke’s eyes rested on a short boy with brown curly hair, glancing from one person to the other and looking intently at each. Luke took a deep breath, knocked and stepped in.

“Hello,” said the girl whose name Luke didn’t know. “Did Owen drop something else?” The others chuckled, Owen included, and Luke gave a weak smile.

“No, I just wondered if I could hang out. My friend is in the orchestra and I don’t have anyone to hang out with.” The four of them exchanged glances and shrugged. “I’m Luke, by the way,” he added, slowly spelling out the four letters of his name with his fingers, watching as Owen’s eyes lit up in understanding.

“Sure,” Martha nodded, smiling. “We’re playing Shed. Do you know how to play?” Luke shook his head and sat down between Owen and the girl he didn’t know, who introduced herself as Chloe, and the other boy’s name was Connor. They explained to him the rather complicated rules and the hour flew past. Luke felt a stab of disappointment that he and Owen didn’t get much time together, but now that he was familiar with the group, he could (presumably) hang out with them again, especially if Emma was going to be at orchestra every week.

 

When the bell rang, they all got up to go, but when they were in the corridor Luke took his chance and caught Owen’s eye.

“You can go,” he said to his friends. Luke felt himself smile at the sound of his voice. Although it had clearly broken, it was soft and not especially deep. Luke imagined he could sing like an angel if he had the opportunity.

“Are you sure?” Connor asked. Owen nodded and smiled, gesturing to Luke.

Once they’d gone, Luke turned to him. “You speak so well,” he said, making his voice more confident than he felt. Owen smiled.

“I only lost my hearing a few years ago, in an accident,” he said, signing as he went. “I know how to speak, but I prefer signing if I can. I can read your lips though,” he added. Luke smiled and took a deep breath, before rather shakily signing _You are beautiful_ , like he’d learned. Owen beamed. “Thank you,” he said, joy emulating from his gentle voice as he repeated the sign Luke had seen him make that morning. “You are too.” He paused a moment and bit his lip. “Your girlfriend?” Luke was puzzled. “At the bench,” Owen continued.

Luke shook his head firmly. “She’s my friend.” Owen looked relieved.

“Good,” he said, offering Luke a thumbs-up. He hesitated, before taking Luke’s hand and squeezing it, rubbing his thumb along the back of Luke’s hand. “Bye,” he smiled, waving once.

“Bye,” Luke echoed, mirroring the sign. As they walked away from each other, Luke glanced back to see that Owen had paused at the door. He grinned once more before pushing the door open and disappearing. Luke couldn’t quite believe it. He certainly had a lot to tell Emma.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone ever reads this, I hope you enjoyed it! I was inspired by something I read on Tumblr and a film I watched recently. I admittedly don't know a huge amount about this subject but I've been learning a bit of sign language so I hope Owen does justice to the amazing people who live with hearing loss.
> 
> I'd love to hear if you liked this, so leave a comment or hit me up on Tumblr (@teaforoneplease)!


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